


Might Be

by FangQueen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Love/Hate, M/M, Snogging, Underage - Freeform, sexual awakening
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-29 19:13:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6389689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FangQueen/pseuds/FangQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even in his obviously panicked state, Malfoy still managed to sneer and pucker his lips at the question, taunting him. And Ron Weasley did the only thing he could think to do when he saw that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Might Be

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Thank you so much for taking a look at my fic! I rp like a beast, but honestly, this is the first fanfic I've written in years, and even before then, I only had three or four, none of which are worth talking about, haha. But I decided to take a shot and try writing them again. This particular one was derived from a very small scene in one I wrote forever ago; I added a lot to it, spruced it up, made it nice and pretty and something I actually felt proud to present to the world, haha. I hope you enjoy it!

The nearly deafening roar of the Great Hall at breakfast time was suddenly snuffed out as the large, oak double doors shut behind him with a definitive thud. Even after he’d cut himself off from the cacophony that fully intended to provide him with a migraine, Ron was still swearing quietly to himself in irritation. How could Harry have done this? It was enough that the redhead had to suffer through the chaos that had ensued after his name had flown out of the Goblet, followed by the party thrown in Gryffindor Tower that same night--but now, even a couple days later, it was _still_ all anyone could talk about! It hadn’t been enough for his best friend, huh? Being “the Boy-Who-Lived”? The savior of all the wizarding world? No, he had to snatch up fame every chance he could; he just had to go for Triwizard Champion, too. Nevermind that they weren’t allowed, at their age! The whole affair made him queasy, how everyone clapped and carried on for Harry, not acknowledging for a single second that sometimes--even once in awhile--someone else just _might_ be deserving of a little praise. Why was _he_ entitled to have it all?!

Internal ranting aside, what had actually happened was: Everyone had been coming up to Harry at their table the entire morning, repeatedly asking him how he’d managed to get his name in, and how he thought he was going to fair in the Tournament. And while the brunette did, to his credit, appear put-off by all the questioning, he didn’t necessarily do anything to deter it. This pissed his friend off in ways he couldn’t fully explain. Thus, Ron, being Ron, had to go let off some steam, which resulted in him deciding to head to their first period ahead of the others. Hermione had done her due diligence in trying to stop him, but he’d brushed her off with a muttered, “Quit it, I’m fine, I’ll see in a mo’.” Which wasn’t true, of course; he wasn’t fine, and they all knew that, but no one felt quite comfortable pushing the subject when he got in this state. Truth be told, he didn’t completely understand why he was reacting this way. All he knew was that he felt a sharp pain in his chest and a burst of rage whenever anyone brought it up, and that was good enough reason for him to freak out, as far as he was concerned.

Up a flight of stairs, then a right turn at the corner, and he found himself in a blissfully-empty corridor. Knowing that he was alone was helping to calm him somewhat. The Charms classroom wasn’t far now, and even though he knew the bell was minutes from chiming, he figured he had enough time to achieve the level of “relatively pleasant” once everyone else caught up to him. That was, until he heard a grating voice that stopped him dead in his tracks:

“Hey, Weasel, why the long face?”

Why? Why the _fuck_ did it have to be Malfoy, of all people, right now?! He honestly didn’t need this, more so than any other time. But he took a deep, shuddering breath in through his nose and slowly turned around. There he was, leaning nonchalantly against one wall of the alcove Ron had just passed (how had he missed him?!), his thumbs hooked into the pockets of his trousers and that trademark smirk playing on his lips. How he managed to make every solitary gesture of his look equal parts casual and graceful was so far beyond the Gryffindor, it wasn’t worth pondering.

“Sod off, Malfoy.”

“Ouu, language, Weasley. And here I was just trying to ask after your wellbeing.”

“I don’t really see why it’s any of your business.”

Those calculating eyes scanned him from head to toe. When they lighted upon his fuming face once again, the expression he wore was so smug that Ron had to clench his fists to prevent himself from just hauling off and clocking him right then and there. There was even a goddamn twinkle in his eye! Nothing like Dumbledore’s, mind. No, this was the kind of glint that a cat had, just as it finally caught the elusive canary. The blonde pushed away from the wall and sauntered over, till there was only a couple feet separating them. That was pretty brave of him, considering how Ron probably resembled a volcano about to erupt. And now that he was that much closer, the redhead could see the myriad of thoughts running behind his storm-colored orbs. He knew. How did he know? Well, he was a git, but no one would ever say Draco Malfoy wasn’t intelligent. Or perceptive; he’d give him that, at least.

Wait, did he just compliment him?

But git he sure as hell was, so obviously he had to take what knowledge he’d somehow just garnered from his surveil of Ron’s body and sprint to the ends of the earth with it. “Oh-ho...I see. Have a little lover’s spat with your _boyfriend_ Potter?”

It all happened so quickly that Malfoy had no time whatsoever to brace himself before the back of his head smacked stone and stars flashed before his eyes. His yelp of pain echoed in the otherwise desolate hallway. Ron was gripping the front of his jumper so tightly, he feared it might rip. Initially, he’d had half a mind to merely remind the slighter boy of his recent foray into the life of a ferret, watch his eyes nearly bug out of his head, then walk off and call it a day. But no, this shit was too much, at this point. He needed to punch something. And if Malfoy--who’d been pushing his luck since they’d first arrived this term, Merlin knew why--wanted to offer himself up so readily to aid in Ron’s anger management, well then, who was he to deny him? It wasn’t even a consideration, why Malfoy had happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time; honestly, Ron wouldn’t have been surprised if the prat had been waiting there, solely to annoy him whenever he chanced to pass by.

“Get off--!”

“Shut it, Malfoy, or I swear--!”

“I will when you _let go_!”

A war of wills ensued. Ron kept a bruising hold on the boy, trapping him between the wall and his torso, and Malfoy struggled with all his might to shove the taller, stronger Gryffindor off of him. It would’ve been quite a feat for him to do so. Realizing this rather quickly, he resulted to attempting to...claw? the other boy’s cheek, or whatever the hell he was trying to do. Regardless, he received a fist to the jaw in return. It wasn’t a hard hit--just enough to get him to stop--but he growled in outrage nonetheless.

“You’d like it if that were true, huh?” Ron ground out through gritted teeth, completely oblivious as to why he might be saying such a thing. “You’d love it if I were a pouf, wouldn’t you?”

Even in his obviously panicked state, Malfoy still managed to sneer and pucker his lips at the question, taunting him. And Ron Weasley did the only thing he could think to do when he saw that.

He kissed him.

It was very brief, more shocking than he supposed your average kiss should be. (He wouldn’t know; it was his first time doing such a thing.) The look on the Slytherin’s face would’ve made him laugh if he wasn’t so mortified—it was priceless; eyes wide, mouth flapping as if trying to form words, skin even more sickly pale than usual and coated in a thin sheen of sweat. Thinking back on it later, he’d wish he could’ve taken a picture. As it was, he was a tad preoccupied dealing with his own inner turmoil to pay much attention at all to what his counterpart was experiencing. He’d just kissed a bloke. And not just any bloke: _Draco Malfoy_! For fuck’s sake! What could’ve possessed him to do something as mental as that?! A bit of a standoff hung between them, in which both teens weren’t entirely sure where to go from there, and so they instead decided to stare at each other, flabbergasted, each waiting for the other to make a move. Obviously, neither had expected something like this to happen.

Eventually, Ron regained what he could of his composure, and it was then that he released the Slytherin and made to hurry away. He wanted very much to pretend nothing had happened, and he prayed to anyone who might be listening for Malfoy to do the same. But then he could hear a pair of expensive leather shoes slapping against the floor, and he knew he was chasing after him. He couldn’t fathom why, but he slowed, the gap between them closed again, and he felt a gentle hand clasp his wrist and spin him around, and before he knew it, their lips met for the second time.

He felt like they stood there for hours, when it was probably only a minute or two. The first few seconds were spent trying to find a good rhythm and figuring out how, exactly, to tilt their heads so that their noses weren’t flattened against each other and their teeth didn’t clash too much--mostly on Ron’s part, to be honest. And that was the thing right there: Malfoy could _kiss_. Had he done this before? He found himself wondering. Seemed like he’d learned snogging from the master. Not that a first-timer like Ron would know the difference, but still, if this was Malfoy’s first, too, then he was just gifted from birth or something. The boy’s lips were so plump and soft, and Ron thought he heard a joyful squeal from him when their tongues brushed against each other inside the Slytherin’s mouth. And damn, did their bodies fit well together. Girls had all sorts of...extra bits flopping about; he’d always thought they’d get in the way when kissing like this. With blokes, he assumed that even though they’d be more angular, less squishy and cuddly, that they’d connect easier, being that they had similar bodies. Shit...Not like he’d ever _really_ thought about that...Fuck it, this was outstanding, too much so to ruin it with his incessant need to explain away any “unwanted” ideas that came to his mind.

When they finally broke the kiss, Ron discovered his arm had wrapped around Malfoy’s waist of its own accord, and the fingers of his opposite hand were entangled in silky, blonde hair. The Slytherin’s arms encircled his neck, and, if he wasn’t mistaken, the boy was standing on his tippy-toes in what appeared to be a desperate attempt to press their fronts closer together, if that was even possible. Ron could feel the heat radiating off the skin on his throat and face, and he was huffing, as he’d just realized his lungs had nearly run of air in the process. He knew he probably looked ridiculous, because he certainly felt that way, but Malfoy…He was practically glowing. Ron had the sudden thought that that was the first time he’d ever seen the boy genuinely smiling. The Gryffindor wanted to say something, anything. He felt he owed him, and that moment they’d shared, some sort of comment. But all he managed was a breathless:

“Bloody hell.”

Malfoy’s smile transformed into a grin, and he chuckled. The self-satisfaction in his expression was familiar, and yet, for the first time ever, Ron didn’t feel like slapping it off. Quite the contrary, at the very sight of it, there was a stirring in his lower regions beyond anything he’d felt in his adolescence thus far, and he wanted nothing more than to crowd him against the wall again, but this time to continue snogging him properly. Unfortunately, he didn’t get that chance. The bell rang. The blonde patted him on the cheek and turned on his heel, leaving him feeling empty and wanting more than ever before. He shot over his shoulder in a husky voice that betrayed his own lust:

“You’re cute when you blush.”

Goddamn. All Ron could do was watch, open-mouthed, as the embodiment of every wet dream he’d have for the next several months--maybe even years--walked away. Again, he found himself asking how the fuck anyone could look so blase and yet so elegant all at the same time. And sexy. Couldn’t forget sexy. The surge from the Great Hall engulfed him, but he remained frozen, looking every bit the dork he was, until Hermione and the others caught him. He followed them numbly towards their class and took his usual seat, barely acknowledging that Harry was beside him and forgetting one hundred percent that he was supposed to be pissed off at the guy. There were more important matters to focus on, namely the golden-haired god sitting at the table in front and just to the left of theirs, who chose to ignore them for once, despite how the Boy-Who-Lived himself was eying him suspiciously, as per the norm. Meanwhile, Ron was debating his very existence and purpose in life, and how he’d never deemed to notice the way Malfoy’s slacks constricted against every delicious curve of his ass.

But…

He wasn’t into blokes…

Right?

Malfoy ran a long-fingered hand through his hair, and Ron recalled how his own had been caressing it mere minutes ago, and he had to stifle a whimper.

Okay, so maybe there were a lot of things he didn’t understand about himself.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh no, sexual awakenings. XD
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading! I hope it lived up to expectations, haha.
> 
> Kudos/comments = <3!
> 
> Come find me on [Tumblr](https://ohlookagaydraco.tumblr.com/) and [LJ](http://fangqueen.livejournal.com/) as well!


End file.
